Page 5 of Forced Arrangement

My black dress clings to my skin, heavy with rain, but I barely notice. I am numb, detached from everything except the hollow ache in my chest.

The priest’s voice drones on, a low murmur of prayers and scripture that I can’t bring myself to focus on. My gaze is fixed on the coffin as it is slowly lowered into the ground, a box too small to hold all the memories, the love, the life that had been my mother. A sob threatens to escape, but I swallow it down, refusing to break. Not here. Not now.

Justine stands beside me, her arm looped through mine, offering silent support. I feel the gentle pressure of her grip, grounding me as everything else spins out of control. She is the only one here who really knows what I am going through—the only one who knows the truth about who I am and the life I have left behind.

“It’s okay to cry, Sarah,” she whispers, using the name I had lived under for so many years.

To her, I would always be Sarah, the friend she had met in school, the one who shared late-night study sessions and whispered secrets. Justine didn’t know Sophia, not really, but she knew enough to understand the weight of the moment.

“I know,” I reply, my voice barely audible over the rain. “I just…I don’t want to.”

“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” she says, squeezing my arm gently. “Not today.”

But I did. I had to be strong because my mother was gone, and without her, I felt like a ship lost at sea, adrift and vulnerable.I couldn’t afford to fall apart now. Not with everything I had to face.

“We are here today to say goodbye to Jennifer Lacey,” the priest intones. “A mother, a friend, a cherished soul who touched many lives. May her memory be a blessing, and may we find solace in the knowledge that she is at peace.”

The floral arrangements surrounding the grave are a sea of white lilies and roses, their delicate petals glistening with raindrops. The headstones nearby stand like silent sentinels, each telling a story of a life once lived. The ground is soft and wet, the air filled with the earthy scent of fresh soil and flowers.

The drizzling rain patters softly against the black umbrella that barely shields me from the chill. As I stand beside the freshly dug grave, the weight of my mother’s death presses down on me like the leaden sky above. The finality of it all—this is the last time I’ll see her, the last time I’ll hear her voice, the last whisper of the secrets she carried with her.

My fingers grip the handful of dirt, and I let it fall onto the casket, mixing with the countless others that have already piled up. The dirt lands with a muted thud, and I fight to keep my composure, biting my lip until the sting brings tears to my eyes.

As the final words of the eulogy fade into the rain, I step forward, my heels sinking into the wet earth. The lilies tremble in my hands as I stare down at the grave, the reality of it all crashing over me like a tidal wave. She was really gone. The one person who had always been there, my anchor in the storm, was gone.

I drop the flowers into the grave, watching as they land softly on the casket. My vision blurs, tears mingling with the rain, and for a moment, I thought I might collapse under the weight of it all. Justine’s grip tightened on my arm, steadying me, and I leaned into her support, grateful for her presence.

“I’m here,” she murmured, her voice a soft comfort in the storm. “You’re not alone, Sarah.”

But I felt alone. Even with Justine beside me, I felt a void that no one could fill. The secrets of my past, the life I had hidden from everyone—including her—were now mine to bear alone.

As I step back from the grave, a figure catches my eye through the veil of rain. A man, tall and imposing, stands at a distance, watching the proceedings with an intensity that makes my breath catch in my throat. He’s dressed in a dark, tailored suit, his black hair slicked back, the rain beading on the surface without disturbing its perfect style. I note that he wears glasses, and my scrambled brain suddenly thinks of Clark Kent and superheroes hiding in plain sight.

Everything about him screams power and control, and as his gaze meets mine, I feel a jolt of recognition.

“Do you know him?” Justine asks, following my gaze.

I shake my head slowly, but my heart knows better. There is something familiar about him, something that tugs at the edges of my memory. I can’t place him, but I know in my bones that I should be afraid.

The man starts walking toward us, his movements deliberate and unhurried. My pulse quickens as he closes the distance, his green eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that leaves no room for escape or breath.

He turns to me, his eyes meeting mine with a calm that feels oddly unsettling. “My name is Angelo,” he says, offering his hand. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Sophia.”

Hearing my name—Sophia— makes me flinch, as if he has just thrown the world's worst profanity at me. I stagger back, and would have toppled right into the grave with my mother if his hands had not shot out and grabbed my waist.

Sparks light up where his fingers connect with my exposed skin, and I shiver involuntarily. His gaze is merciless on me,unrelenting, as if he is daring me to look away first.Sorry Angelo. If there's one thing I'm good at, it’s playing games and coming out victorious.

“How do you know my name?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

“I know quite a bit about you.” His tone carries an unsettling mix of certainty and something else that sends a shiver down my spine.

I glance at Justine, who is still chatting quietly with a few remaining guests. “Justine, could you please get me some tea from inside?” I ask, hoping to buy myself some time. “I’ll join you shortly.”

Justine looks at me with a hint of concern but nods. “Sure, love. I’ll be right back.” She heads toward the house, leaving Angelo and I alone by the grave.

The silence between us feels charged and heavy. My heart is beating too fast. I think that maybe it’s trying to make up for my mother’s which is still forever now.

“Who are you?”

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